Norah's Ark Read online

  “Oh, you’re no fun!” She stamped her foot and I remembered that she could probably disembowel me with that shoe.

  “I’m plenty of fun. I’m just not fantasizing over Connor Trevain.”

  “Don’t you like him?”

  “Lilly, I don’t even know him.”

  “He’s rich and good-looking.”

  “But is he a Christian?”

  “He can always become that. It’s harder to become rich and good-looking.”

  My shoulders sagged. “Lilly, don’t you know me at all?”

  She looked contrite. “Sorry, Norah. I know how important that is to you, but does it hurt for him to be cute, too?”

  “Of course not. But he’ll be much cuter to me if he’s a Christian.”

  Lilly and I discuss this often. She’s right on the edge of accepting Christ but pulls back every time she thinks of something she might have to give up if she accepts Him fully. So far she’s asked me if she’d have to give up wearing pretty clothes and lipstick, dancing, playing cards, drinking wine and having fun. I keep telling her that that is between her and God. Once she accepts Him and invites the Holy Spirit into action in her life, she’ll know what pleases Him and what doesn’t. Plus, it will be so much fun to please Him that if she sees something she does need to give up, she won’t mind. She can’t get her mind around that concept yet. I understand. It’s hard to comprehend how God can fill you up so that you never feel like you’re missing a thing.

  “What kinds of men do you like, Norah? I blabber about this one and that and you just take it all in, never saying a thing.”

  “I’m not shopping right now, Lilly. It’s hard to conjure up a list for you.”

  “You like Joe. He’s charming, great-looking, nice and tall. Those things could go on your list.”

  “I’m not making a list!”

  “Well, you should.”

  “Why?”

  “What if someone comes along and he’s perfect and you aren’t prepared? He might get away!”

  Lilly’s logic defies reason. Or if it defies reason, can it be logic? Lilly’s way of thinking always dumbfounds me. It’s also part of why we’re friends. I’m never bored around Lilly.

  As we sat there talking, I noticed Lilly’s antennae go up. I can see it in her eyes when there’s either an interesting fashion statement or a cute guy nearby. Her posture straightens, her eyes light up and her nose twitches just the tiniest bit. She says it doesn’t, but I know. I’m an eyewitness.

  Unfortunately the object of her interest was behind me and although I could hear the clink and jangle of metal on metal, I didn’t see him until he stopped at our table.

  “Good morning, ladies” he said to us. I turned around and came eye to buckle with a uniform-clad police officer. He stood with legs straddled and hands linked behind his back, just like on television. He did have the impenetrable black sunglasses but was missing the crisp blue hat which would conceal all expression on his face. And…could I believe my eyes? Was that a horse standing behind him?

  Chapter Three

  “Well, hello. What a hunk you are!”

  “Norah…” Lilly’s shocked voice warned.

  I paid no attention as my gaze made its way across the most incredible horse I’ve ever seen—a gleaming chestnut with muscled flanks, high, strong withers and dark, intelligent eyes. He was drop-dead gorgeous.

  “Norah!”

  I looked up and blinked. Lilly’s shaken and bewildered expression slammed me down to earth in a hurry. Leave it to Lilly to think I was talking to the man, not the horse.

  Without a pause, I pushed away from the table, stood and locked eyes with the massive gelding decked out in a highly buffed, supple black leather saddle and murmured appreciatively, “I wish I had one of you in my shop.”

  Then, with great intention, I turned to the stony policeman. “What an awesome horse. I didn’t realize we were getting a team of police protection.”

  Lilly sagged with relief once she realized that I wasn’t addressing the man’s attractiveness—which was certainly obvious. I made a mental note to talk to her later and convince her that not every woman views the world the way she does—by noticing the men first and only later seeing the scenery.

  The cop, a hunk in his own right, with square shoulders, a broad, solid body that tapered to narrow hips and an unreadable, impassive face, nodded slightly.

  “Nick Haley. I’m Shoreside’s new police officer.” He didn’t offer his hand or make any effort to smile. His face—the part I could see below the low hat and mirrored sunglasses—was worth studying anyway. Very nice, if you like strong jawlines, golden tans and lips that were probably very good at everything they did, from smiling to kissing….

  “That is so awesome!” Lilly blurted, trying out her ingenue persona on him.

  It didn’t work. Not even a twitch of a smile.

  “Mounted police, what a great idea,” I said, delighted at the thought of having another animal—a huge and beautiful one—in the neighborhood. I had to drag my attention away from the gleaming sorrel shifting in the sun, his neck and flanks shiny and new as a freshly minted copper penny. His ear twitched as an audacious fly tried to land on its tip.

  “Mounted only part-time,” he corrected me. “I work with several local police departments at community events. Because Shoreside hosts so many outdoor parades and events Sarge will be rotating in and out. Your mayor and city council decided that they wanted a police presence able to move in the crowds around the lake and one that wasn’t quite so…”

  “…intimidating as a police car?” I finished for him.

  “Yes.” He cleared his throat and began to scratch the magnificent animal on the neck. “This is my first day on the job. I want to stop by with the horse and meet each of the business owners. This is Sergeant Thunder.”

  “He’s a real sergeant in the police force?” Lilly gasped. “I didn’t know they did that. Do horses have to go to the police academy or something?”

  The officer’s finely drawn lips twitched. “Sergeant Thunder is the name given to him before he was recruited by us. Purely a coincidence. I call him Sarge for short.”

  “Oh.” Lilly sat back to digest that. Lilly isn’t big on animals. She doesn’t hate them, but she doesn’t pay much attention to them, either—except Winky, who gives her a lecherous wolf whistle every time she enters Norah’s Ark.

  “My name is Norah Kent. I own Norah’s Ark. This is Lilly Culpepper of The Fashion Diva. Welcome to Shoreside.” His handshake was warm, firm and rough with calluses. They were a working man’s hands like those of my grandfather, a farmer. I had the sense of being protected even as Nick and I shook hands. Perfect vibe for a policeman to emanate. Still, a smile would have been nice, too.

  Lilly dropped Valley Girl and went straight for Queen Elizabeth. “Charmed, I’m sure,” she murmured huskily as he took her hand. Lilly is always adopting personae other than her own. They’re like clothing for her. She tries something different for whatever mood she’s in. She slides in and out of movie star guises like other people change T-shirts. Personally I like her best when she’s being Barbara Walters or Kelly Ripa. If Lilly is wearing a tailored suit and a hat, it’s Margaret Thatcher every time.

  I reached out and touched Sarge’s flank. It twitched and rippled as if my finger were an unwelcome fly but he made no other movement. Neither horse nor rider was going to let you see them sweat.

  “It was a pleasure to meet both of you. Now if you’ll excuse me…” The officer made a clicking sound with his tongue and Sarge obediently backed off. They were a team, all right.

  After they moved away, Lilly squirmed excitedly in her chair. “What a dream!”

  “The horse is great,” I agreed.

  “Not the horse, silly. The man!”

  “Did you even notice the horse, Lilly? The one that was twelve hundred pounds heavier than the guy leading him?”

  “What if you met a guy someday who was perfect for you b
ut didn’t like animals?” Lilly said exasperatedly. “Then what would you do?”

  “A guy who didn’t like animals couldn’t be ‘perfect’ for me. It’s like that policeman and his horse, or Bentley and me, we’re a pair, a team, and that’s all there is to it. I’m in no danger of falling for a man who won’t have anything to do with God’s furry creatures.”

  “You and your animals. One of these days you’re going to have to start looking at men, Norah, or you’ll end up one of those crazy cat ladies whose house smells like a litter box and has kittens born in your bed.”

  My first notion was to gross her out and tell her that it didn’t sound like such a bad life to me, but I know what she means. I don’t want to live forever with a parrot with a ribald mouth and a dog with more emotional issues than he has fleas as my only companions.

  We didn’t have time to debrief the advent of the new police officer any further because at that moment Joe walked out of the Java Jockey and headed for the lake. He turned briefly to wave at us.

  Lilly pointed to Joe’s broad, muscular retreating back as he sauntered down the sidewalk. “Maybe you should marry Joe. He’s handsome, successful and crazy about you.”

  “There’s only one small problem, Lilly. I don’t want to get married right now.” I slapped the heel of my hand against my forehead. “Oh, yes, silly me. There are two problems. I’m also not in love with him—not that way, at least not yet.”

  “But you like him, don’t you?”

  “Of course, but…”

  “Has he asked you out lately?”

  “We’re going out for Italian food on Saturday.”

  Lilly clapped her hands and leaped to her feet. “I’ve got just the dress for you.”

  “Dress? Lilly, when was the last time you saw my legs?” Granted, I do wear a skirt to church on Sundays—but it isn’t my usual uniform. That’s anything with a Norah’s Ark logo on it.

  “Exactly my point.” She grabbed my hand and tugged until I reluctantly followed her across the street into The Fashion Diva.

  The Fashion Diva has every bit as much élan as Lilly does. My friend is an artist at putting items of clothing together in unexpected ways. Today she had a beach-party theme on her wall, a collage of summer clothing—shorts, halter tops, flowing skirts—that appeared to be worn by invisible bodies playing volleyball. She’d tacked a scrap of webbing and two sticks to the wall to indicate the net, deflated a volleyball and arranged it as if it were sailing midair.

  “Cool wall,” I managed before she shoved me into a dressing room and began flinging clothes in behind me.

  “Lilly, I can’t just walk out of my store and leave it untended.”

  “You try these on. I’ll watch for customers. If anyone comes to buy one of those gargantuan puppies you have, I’ll call you.”

  “They are mastiffs. They’re supposed to be gigantic.”

  “They grow up to be Volkswagen vans. Why don’t you sell miniature poodles, the kind people can carry in their purse? Such a trendy look right now.”

  “Animals are not accessories, Lilly.”

  A big sigh came from outside the door. “Okay, okay. How does the skirt fit?”

  “Like a collapsed canvas mainsail.”

  There was a long silence outside the dressing room door, then another sigh. “Let me see.”

  I trudged into the painful light of day. The skirt she’d given me was actually canvas-colored, with rivets, stitched pockets and a slit on the side which was probably supposed to show off my long, shapely leg. Instead, it made me look like one of the concrete foundation footings they were pouring for the new bank being built down the street.

  “Oh, dear. Maybe we can’t do this quickly after all.”

  “Exactly. To entertain yourself, put together a couple outfits that will make me look human rather than like squat, ugly buildings. I’ll try them on later just to satisfy you. No promises I’ll buy, though.”

  “You are my newest crusade, Norah, even if I have to order clothes made of denim, flannel and sweatshirt fabric, I will make you a representative of Fashion Diva style.”

  Terrific. Being Lilly’s pet project is always a pain because she’s relentless in whatever she sets out to do. The only one she’s ever had to admit defeat on is Auntie Lou whose style can be best described as a Civil War combined with consignment store chic.

  Why, I wondered as I hurried back to feed the animals, didn’t she just advertise on the side of a bus rather than make me, a cute but admitted sow’s ear—fashionwise, that is—into a silk purse?

  At noon, I jogged up to Belles & Beaus to make an emergency bird feed delivery. They’ve installed a large cage in the foyer and I filled it with peach-faced lovebirds to greet their customers. I love a lovebird—makes sense, doesn’t it?—because they are playful and energetic and yes, can be taught to give kisses. Though it’s a completely up-to-date spa, the main floor has been kept to look like the Victorian house that it is. Lush pinks, lace, teacups, ornate furniture and all the things the Victorians loved are accounted for in this place. It would make me wacky to have to work in such sensory excess, but it’s popular with its clientele. I admit I can stand it quite nicely, however, for as long as it takes to have a facial or a pedicure.

  On the way back to the Ark, I stuck my head into the open door of the building that was to be the new toy shop. The man and woman stripping wallpaper in the back of the room jumped as if I’d fired a rifle when I knocked on the door.

  “Not open until next week,” he yelled.

  “I don’t want anything except to welcome you to the neighborhood.” I took a step inside the door. “I’m Norah Kent, from Norah’s Ark pet shop.”

  Reluctantly, as if they were walking in cold molasses, the couple moved toward me. They were in their midfifties, dressed in jeans, T-shirts and tennis shoes.

  Something had gone awry in these people’s lives. I could see it in the deeply etched frown lines bracketing his lips and the deeply cut wrinkles making her forehead nearly as furrowed as the Shar-pei puppies I sometimes sell.

  These people, with their grim expressions, didn’t look like they belonged on happy-go-lucky Pond Street. Neither did they look like owners of a toy store. Or maybe I’d confused them with the cultural image of Santa Claus. Toy store owners didn’t have to have round bellies, pink cheeks and perpetually be saying, “Ho-ho-ho.”

  “I’m Franklin Morris and this is my wife, Julie.” He reluctantly stuck out his hand for a shake.

  Franklin and Julie. Simple, commonplace names for ordinary people. What kinds of monikers had I expected? Big Bad Wolf and Cruella De Vil?

  “Looks like you still have some work to do before opening day.” The fellows who built the pyramids didn’t have to work any harder than these guys would to get this place done in a week.

  “Yes,” Franklin said tersely.

  “Are you hiring any help?” My voice was beginning to sound falsely chipper—annoying even to my own ears.

  “No.”

  “Doing it yourself, then?”

  “Yes.”

  Well, don’t talk my ear off!

  “We’re in a little over our head. The building is in poorer shape than we realized.”

  Overwhelmed. Now that I can understand.

  “If you need help, holler. We treat each other like family here on Pond Street.”

  Franklin and Julie exchanged glances, their expressions indicating that they weren’t sure if this was good news or not. Then Julie rallied. “Thanks so much for stopping by. I’ll visit your pet store after we get settled.”

  I had to be content with that. First Connor, then the policeman and now the new toy store owners. Suddenly there were a lot of strangers on Pond Street.

  I hadn’t noticed Auntie Lou sitting in the shade in a big balloonlike hanging wicker basket chair left over from the late seventies until she accosted me with her broomstick. She was so short that her feet didn’t touch the ground and the chair all but gobbled her up. She
was still wearing her cloche hat but did have her teeth in now which smoothed out a few wrinkles. Occasionally Lou’s choppers clatter when she talks so it’s fifty-fifty which is actually better—teeth in or teeth out. Sometimes it sounds like she’s playing the castanets when she talks.

  “How’s the cat doing?” I looked around but didn’t see him in her window.

  “Big slug is sound asleep on my bed. Eat, purr, sleep. Eat, purr, sleep. That’s all he does.”

  “Isn’t that what he’s supposed to do?”

  “What about mousing? A batch of field mice could set up shop right next to him and he’d never blink,” she said with a smile.

  “Give him time, Lou. He’s just getting settled in.”

  “Settled-schmettled. He’s just as lazy as my former husband.”

  And, I realized, that the backhanded statement had somehow been a compliment for both the cat and the man.

  “Can you sit awhile?” Auntie Lou asked hopefully.

  “Not now, but I’ll come over later and pin up that dress you need hemmed.”

  “You’re a good girl, Norah. What would I do without you?” Auntie Lou patted my hand with such gentle affection I felt tears coming to my eyes.

  Chapter Four

  My place is a townhouse situated on Lake Zachary that I purchased from my father, who’d once owned it as investment property. I’d renovated it and made it my ideal retreat. After work I hurried there for Bentley, who had opted for a morning at home over a day at the shop with me. Bentley enjoys his peace and quiet but he’s not immune to getting lonesome. Especially for moi.

  How do I know my dog likes it quiet? At Norah’s Ark, every time Winky starts whooping it up or a batch of puppies start squealing, he flops on the floor and manages to get his front legs and paws up over his ears as if to say, “Turn down the volume.” When my television is too loud, Bentley stands in front of it growling at the screen until I adjust the sound. Bentley definitely needs his quiet time.

  Actually, what Bentley really needs is therapy. I rescued him from a shelter nearly two years ago. One day I saw the Humane Society sign and turned in to the lot as though someone else was driving the car and I was simply along for the ride. The car parked itself, expelled me from the driver’s seat and my legs, under no direction from my mind, walked inside.